


Down in South Downs

by DeadHero



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Astronomy, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Drunken Flirting, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slice of Life, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadHero/pseuds/DeadHero
Summary: A collection of ficlets that take place in a small cottage in South Downs, England





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted an art piece of Crowley and Aziraphale in their bedroom in South Downs cottage and so I got inspired by myself to write this

“Hey, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed questioningly.

“Angel.”

He hummed again, louder this time, his eyes glued to the page. He was gently poked. Aziraphale looked away from his book and glanced to his right where Crowley was tucked into his side.

“Yes, Crowley?”

Crowley's face was buried into the upper arm of Aziraphale's sweater and only his right eye and part of his mouth could be seen. His hair was tousled and soft, freshly showered.

“Love you,” the demon yawned and buried the rest of his face into the woolen cardigan. Aziraphale smiled gently and turned back to his book, not quite reading. For so long, Crowley had been scared, had been terrified, of admitting love in fear of being dragged back to Hell by his superiors. And now he said it so casually, so honestly. Something warm and comfortable swelled in Aziraphale and he smiled again, a bit more broadly this time.

He shut his book (he had already read it 874 times) and when he leaned over to place it on the bedside table, Crowley made a discontent, snuffled sound and held onto his arm tighter. Aziraphale set the book down and leaned back before pulling Crowley into his arms fully.

Crowley melted into the embrace and stared up at Aziraphale. They looked at each for a bit before Crowley's lips quirked.

“Hullo, angel.”

The lamp bathed Crowley in a warm light, smoothing his edges and angles and giving his dark skin a glow.

Aziraphale kissed him tenderly, sweet and long.

Crowley smiled against his lips and when they drew apart the demon was blushing furiously.

“Hello, my dear,” Aziraphale replied.

Crowley made a discombobulated noise and buried his face into Aziraphale's chest. The angel laughed lightly and pressed another kiss into Crowley's hair. Another sound came out, muffled by his sweater, and strangled in that sweet way that mean Crowley had fully lost his composure.

It was quite adorable, Aziraphale had to admit. Before they had, _ahem_ , come to a new Arrangement, Aziraphale had assumed Crowley would still act the same way: cool as a cucumber with a few moments here and there of uncertainty and shyness. It was to Aziraphale's excessive delight when this simply was not the case. Crowley, as he had found, was practically bursting at the seams with emotion that Aziraphale had to wonder how he hadn't noticed it sooner. In the first few months of the new Arrangement, Crowley's wings would pop out, or one memorable time he turned back into a snake, due to just an overdose of genuine love*.

*Crowley, after turning back into his human appearance, quite embarrassedly explained that he had never felt loved since the Fall and that had been so long ago and as a demon none of his peers were equipped or even wanted to be equipped for love, so, in short, Crowley was extremely starved of softness**.

**After Crowley finished explaining this, Aziraphale had swept him up in his arms and held him as close as possible on the old backroom couch, turning the telly on to an old James Bond film and miracling up some cocoa.

Aziraphale realized, for not the first time at all and not the last time at least, that he intensely, maddeningly, breathtakingly cared for and loved the demon in his arms.

Crowley's head lifted slightly in curiosity when he felt Aziraphale stop breathing for a moment. His head cocked to the side in a silent question, a quiet concern.

“I'm alright,” the angel reassured and Crowley relaxed, settling back into the cuddle. They stayed like this for awhile (Aziraphale wouldn't be able to say how long if pressed), simply taking joy and relaxation in the other's presence.

Eventually, Aziraphale poked Crowley slightly. The demon _hmm'ed_. Aziraphale poked him again.

“Hmmmmwhat is it, Aziraphale?” Crowley's words were slurred with sleep.

“Oh, nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “Just that I love you as well.”

Crowley hummed a happy note and squeezed him once. Aziraphale smiled and sighed, letting his eyes slip shut. Sometimes, a nap was better than a good book when taken with someone held dear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farmer's market

On Saturday and Sunday mornings, from 8am to 2pm, there was a farmer's market.

Aziraphale made it a habit to go, wanting to buy food locally despite being able to miracle up whatever he might have actually needed. Besides, it was supporting small businesses, which surely was approved by Heaven. Usually he went alone, as he liked to go while it was early and Crowley was unwilling to part from the blanket nest he inevitably tangled himself up in over the night.

Usually.

Today, Crowley had hauled himself out of bed when Aziraphale made to get up, claiming that he wanted to see 'what could possibly be worth leaving the bed* for at such an early hour’. He had grumpily dressed into what looked like regular countryside clothes but Aziraphale could tell cost more than several of his first editions sold together, slipped on his awful sunglasses**, and allowed himself*** to be dragged into a make-out session by an Aziraphale who was very happy that he finally got to take Crowley with him to the market.

*The bed, meaning Crowley.

** Awful because while yes, they were always in fashion and often very sleek and very nice, they hid away Crowley's eyes.

*** 'Allowed himself’ in this context is a synonym to 'enthusiastically and delightedly reciprocated’.

They went off (eventually) in the Bentley and made it there by not quite 930am, which, even accounting for Crowley's flash bastard driving, was quite a bit later than when Aziraphale usually arrived when walking. They got out and Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley's, who tried and failed miserably to not blush at this.

The stalls were bustling with business and townspeople and there was this thrum in the air that spoke of goodwill and happiness that made Aziraphale feel alive. He noticed out of the corner of his eye Crowley staring and smiling at him fondly and without reserve. He turned his head and smiled back, squeezing Crowley's hand thrice.

Crowley squeezed back.

Aziraphale spotted a stand that another customer was just leaving and lit up. It was a booth run by a middle-aged woman and her wife, and they sold all sorts of foods and drink made with honey from their bees. He picked up the pace, pushing past a few people and muttering, “Whoops, excuse me, excuse me, oh sorry, thank you, oh please excuse me.” He vaguely recognized the sound of Crowley half-heartedly grumbling in the background about being dragged around.

They made it to the stalls no worse for wear and the woman smiled graciously at Aziraphale.

“Hi, Azira. Lovely morning isn't it?” She greeted.

“Hello, Martha. Indeed it is quite pleasant out. How's Jackie doing?” Aziraphale asked as he started to look through this week's products.

“Jackie's doing just fine,” Jackie herself said, appearing from wherever she had been when Aziraphale and Crowley had arrived. She kissed Martha on the cheek before giving Crowley an appraising look. “Now who's this?” Her tone was creeping towards gossipy.

“Er-” Aziraphale started and stopped, unsure of what exactly they were. They had never really defined it-

“I'm his husband,” Crowley flashed a patented grin, one that had always gotten him free pastries at the bakery by the bookshop in Soho.

Aziraphale's heart tripped up and a row of exclamation points started ringing in his head.

“Oh?” He faintly heard Martha say warmly and with a bit of surprise. “We didn't know he was married. How fantastic it is to meet you…?”

“Crowley.”

“Crowley,” she finished. Aziraphale saw the three of them all smiling at each other and he had to look away quickly, his face heating up. He picked up what he always bought (a jar of honey, a package of honeycombs that Crowley always loved to lick, a box of black tea that was sold on the behalf of Jackie's younger sibling) and held them up.

“All done, angel?” Crowley asked and as Aziraphale nodded, he saw Jackie nudging Martha and his heart felt like bursting.

“All done, my dear,” he said and now it was Crowley's turn to internally combust as Aziraphale handed over the payment. Martha accepted the money and Jackie placed the goods into a paper bag before handing it back.

“Well, it was great doing business with you once again, Azira. And it was great to meet you, too, Crowley. So good to know that Azira has someone. Make sure to come again,” Martha told them.

Crowley startled before smiling brightly* and replying, “Good to meet you too, and yeah,” he glanced over to Aziraphale, “I think I will.”

*It was the same smile Crowley had their first morning after, when Aziraphale had told Crowley he loved him.

They left the stall and after rounding the corner to an empty in-between area, Crowley stopped suddenly and faced him about. He leaned into Aziraphale and kissed him sweetly, grabbing the lapels of the angel's autumn jacket. Aziraphale's knees went weak and he nearly dropped the bag. After a bit, they separated and he sighed fondly.

“Now what was that all about, my dear boy?”

They were close enough that Aziraphale could see past the sunglasses’ tint to watch Crowley's eyes glance away for a moment.

“I just, er,” Crowley began and then stopped, obviously infatuated and embarrassed. “I really liked calling you my husband.”

Aziraphale melted and actually did drop the bag this time. Luckily, some spongy moss decided to spring up over the asphalt and the glass jar of honey landed unharmed. Aziraphale didn't notice.

“I, um, also, really enjoyed that, as well,” Aziraphale tripped over his words and Crowley smiled fondly.

“C'mon, let's go see the rest of the market,” Crowley said before picking up the bag and taking Aziraphale's hand. “Lead the way, angel.”

They walked around the farmer's market until it closed, hand-in-hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even angels get sad sometimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update bc this one is pretty short

Aziraphale was upset.

Crowley could tell this because the angel had drunk approximately a quarter less daily tea than usual and had stared blankly at his book during their unofficial Do Separate Things Near Each Other time*.

*By Separate Things, it meant more that Aziraphale would crack open a book and Crowley would nap against him or just read along.

The sun had set and Aziraphale was already in bed, lamp off and reading material closed and put away by the time Crowley came into the bedroom. He frowned slightly. The demon walked over to the bed and laid down before gently tugging the angel into his arms. Aziraphale shifted into this easily and simply pressed his face into Crowley's neck without a word.

Crowley pressed a kiss to the side of his head and held Aziraphale tight. It was uncommon, but not unheard of, for Aziraphale to get like this. It was usually Crowley in this state, the roles reversed, but after things such as an old, human friend passing away, or finding out about the newest atrocity humans committed without occult influence, this is how Aziraphale could be found.

Time passed without measure and eventually, Aziraphale sighed and pulled away slightly. The angel laid a soft kiss onto Crowley's collarbone and shifted his position until his ear laid upon where Crowley's unneeded heart beat.

Crowley threaded his fingers through the tightly curled, golden hair and took in a deep breath.

“Are you doing alright, angel?” He ventured, his quiet words ringing in the silence.

Aziraphale sighed heavily and didn't answer for a bit before murmuring, “I will be alright, dearest.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay.”

And that was that. Crowley continued to hold Aziraphale and would continue to hold him as long as Aziraphale needed it, wanted it. The angel stayed in arms for hours more and at the end gave Crowley a searing, loving kiss before they both fell asleep


	4. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an interlude to a moment not too long after they moved into the cottage

The smell of fire was one Crowley had been fine with for most of existence. Hell had fire everywhere and had a constant ashy scent, and Crowley had always been partial to sleeping in front of a fireplace whenever it got just that side of too chilly.

Had been.

Now, staring at the fire Aziraphale had started while he had been out driving, Crowley realized that he very much was no longer a fan.

Aziraphale turned away from the fireplace, stoker in hand, and lit up. “Crowley, my dear! How was the drive?”

Crowley start to inch away from where he stood at the living room entrance. “It was fine, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled and gave the fire one more poke. Sparks burst from the wood and Crowley flinched. The angel put aside the stoker before he sat down on the old couch, patting the spot next to him. “Why don't you come sit, my dear. The weather forecast said it was very nippy today.”

Well, Crowley could never deny anything Aziraphale asked of him. He slowly approached the couch and sat down. He pulled his legs up to hold them and leaned over. The angel hummed and pulled him closer.

Crowley was sweating. He didn't know he could sweat. Apparently he could. Which was, like, fine, you know. Probably just overheated from how warm Aziraphale always was and the, er, the fire. He couldn't stop shivering.

“Dearest, you're shaking like a leaf,” came Aziraphale's voice, affected with concern.

“Who, me? No, you must be imagining things,” replied Crowley, who realized the second he said this that it was possibly the shittiest lie he had ever told*.

*The shittiest lie Crowley ever told was when he was kneeling in the remains of his villa that overlooked Pompeii, and Aziraphale asked him if he was alright and Crowley told him yes.

Aziraphale withdrew from the couch to kneel on the floor in front of Crowley and was cast in shadows and a rim of burning light. The angel gently took Crowley’s hand as he shook even harder.

“I know,” Aziraphale started slowly, “that this might not exactly be my place, but I…” he looked away and Crowley could see the uncertainty dancing in his eyes: this was unknown territory. They had kissed and they had laid together; they had drunk and questioned the ineffable together; they had brandished weapons and made a stand together. But the irritable and uppity moods followed by brooding that Aziraphale would fall into? The distant state and decades long naps that would befall Crowley? These were untouched, they were solitary.

“I want you to know that you can tell me things, if you’d like,” Aziraphale finally finished. Crowley glanced over his partner's shoulder and stared into the fire.

“I, I don’t know where to start,” Crowley admitted, tearing his eyes away from the flames.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale reached up and cupped his cheek. “Let’s start with today.”

“Alright, angel,” Crowley said, and as Aziraphale settled back in next to him, he began to talk about burning.


	5. Super Blood Wolf Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw the Super Blood Wolf Moon outside and shit y'all it's freezing as fuck but it was fucking gorgeous so yknow, got very inspired for something very short. hmu @fan-art-ic on tumblr

“Truly amazing, isn't it, angel?”

They were situated in the backyard, wrapped in jackets and blankets, drinking cocoa. Crowley was fiddling with a telescope pointed at the sky. Aziraphale sat on the outdoor sofa and took a sip from his mug.

“It certainly is, dearest,” Aziraphale agreed and looked upward. The moon, not quite fully eclipsed, bleeding heavily on one side, was breathtaking. It helped that there was little light pollution and there was not a single cloud in the sky.*

*This was less because of luck and more because Crowley had been excited for the event for weeks now and Aziraphale didn't want him to be disappointed.

Crowley squatted in the grass with his right eye pressed up to whatever the viewing area was called. The wind blew bitterly and tousled the demon's hair and reddened his nose and cheeks. His hands and shoulders were shivering fiercely.

Aziraphale called him over. “Crowley, come sit down. You can see it fine from where I'm at.” He lifted the blanket covering his legs. Crowley stayed squatting.

“ _My dear.”_

Crowley stood up and brushed any possible dirt off his trousers before slouching over to the couch, slotting himself neatly under the blanket and Aziraphale's arm. The angel immediately took his hands and started some warmth into them. The fingertips were nearly blue.

“Honestly,” Aziraphale huffed. “You think after all this time you would remember how you turn into an ice cube quicker than most.” Crowley smiled sheepishly.

“It slipped my mind,” he said between his chattering teeth. Gradually the cold-blooded demon regained warmth and simply held hands with his other. They stared up at the moon, a cold, ancient, gentle thing, streaking red across the night.

It was beautiful.


	6. When You Accidentally Get So Drunk You Forget You're Married

“Ravenly, dear, I think,” Aziraphale hiccupped, “I think we’ve had enough to drink.”

Crowley blinked owlishly. “My name,” he slurred slowly and deliberately, “is Crow.”

Now, Aziraphale blinked. He frowned and took another drink from his glass of Bordeaux. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, then what is right?” Crowley asked as he tipped over to bury his face into Aziraphale’s hideous sweater*.

*This sweater was actually a rather pretty color, a blue so light it was almost white. The reason it was hideous**, in the demon’s opinion, was because Crowley had knitted it one time when he got bored.

**It wasn’t the nicest knit job, even Aziraphale had to agree, but he loved it almost as much as he loved Crowley.

After much thought, very deep and thoughtful thought, Aziraphale declares, “I don’t know, but it has something to do with corvids.”

“I’m gonna sober up now because this is bothering me,” Aziraphale told Crowley. The demons  _ hmm’ed _ in acknowledgment and seconds later the alcohol was evaporating from Aziraphale’s bloodstream. It dawned on him. “Oh! Your name! Crowley!” Aziraphale laughed softly. He relaxed into the old couch and time began to slip by until-

“Hey.”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, who was smiling dopily at him. Oh right, he hadn’t sobered up.

“Hello, Crowley,” he said fondly.

Crowley blushed and glance away before looking back. “Hey, hey, do you, do you have a bandaid?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. “We don't need band-aids."

Crowley deflated for a second before rallying. “Well I need one from where I got scraped falling for you,” he finished clumsily.

Aziraphale snorted in spite himself and said with a bit of reproach, “Crowley-”

“Could I take you out for dinner before you go back to heaven?” Crowley blurted out, looking drunkenly infatuated. His glasses were off and his eyes were wide and hopeful.

Now Aziraphale was barely holding back laughter. “I believe I'm spoken for already,” he teased Crowley. The demon did not register it as teasing in his absolutely smashed state and he pouted.

“Aw, are you sure? I'm kind of a-” Crowley hiccuped. “-a sweet deal. I've got a cool car.”

Aziraphale stroked Crowley's hair. “Hmm, yes I'm quite sure. I'm very in love with a certain fetching demon.”

Crowley leaned up into Aziraphale's hand, absolutely melting into Aziraphale's side. “I wish I was that demon, what a lucky bastard,” he muttered before dropping off.

Aziraphale's chest shook with repressed laughter. Oh, he couldn't wait to tease Crowley about this once he had sobered up in the morning. For right now, however, he was going to enjoy the comforting, sleepy weight of Crowley cuddled in next to him. Aziraphale closed his eyes.


	7. Swords are Gay Culture

“What do you want for dinner, dearest?”

Aziraphale and Crowley were laying on the couch doing absolutely nothing, no book within reach or television turned on. Crowley turned in Aziraphale’s arms to face him proper.

“I don’t know, what do you want?” Crowley asked.

The angel sighed. “I have no clue either, I’m just starting to feel peckish.”

Crowley snorted. “Peckish? Angel, we don’t need to eat.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Yes, I know, but still.” He arched his eyebrows. “Besides, aren’t you hungry?”

“Well,” said Crowley. “Now that you mention it…”

They laid in contemplative silence before Crowley perked up. “Hey, hey, remember that time we ate spaghetti?”

“Which time?”

“Oh you know, the one near that old church, with the weird gravestones,” Crowley gestured empathetically. Aziraphale scooted over slightly so he could look Crowley in the eye better.

“The church in Florence where we fought and then you treated me to dinner?”

“Yeah, I felt bad for winning a fight where I couldn't even remember why we fought. Anyways, that meal was good, we should order Italian.”

But Aziraphale had stopped listening. “What do you mean, you  _ won _ ?”

Crowley sat up properly at hearing the uninterpretable edge creep into Aziraphale's voice. “Well, you know, I won. I was always the better fighter,” he said tentatively, starting to feel heady.

“Is that so?” Aziraphale replied airily.

There was a moment of silence. Crowley lunged forward at the same time Aziraphale tried to grab him.

They toppled over the coffee table and grappled for a few seconds before Crowley slithered out of Aziraphale's grasp. He grabbed a fire poker and brandished it like a cocky, 17th century French gentleman with his finest rapier. “En garde,” Crowley grinned and gave a playful thrust in the angel’s direction.

Aziraphale stood to his full height, glancing at the sole poker in Crowley’s possession. “Well that’s hardly fair.” He snapped his hand and another poker appeared, long and shiny. “Ah,” said Aziraphale, glancing down at it before smiling at Crowley. “Much better.”

And they began to fight in earnest. Metal clanged and their shadows danced across the room. Aziraphale thrusted and Crowley sidestepped.

Crowley slashed and was easily blocked. Their pokers grinded together as they both pushed.

“Really now, my dear,” Aziraphale grunted as he started to lean his considerable height into it, “don’t you remember how that time in Babylon ended? Or Macedonia? Or specifically that church fight?”

“I’m not sure what you're going on about, angel. I remember having torn your pants with my sword,” Crowley panted, smiling all the while. He had missed this. The thrill of a good fight. Not that he or Aziraphale had any intention of hurting one another, but still: the adrenaline, the rush of a well-matched opponent.

Aziraphale sniffed. “That’s not how I’m remembering it, my dear boy.”

“Oh? Then please, pray tell.” The pokers would have snapped by now, given the force applied, if not for who wielded them.

“I remember it-”

Aziraphale stepped back and pivoted. Crowley fell forward.

“-more like-”

Crowley yelped as he started to fall to the floor. Aziraphale stepped back in and caught Crowley’s wrist of the hand holding the poker. A whoosh of air left Crowley’s lungs as the floor met his back.

Aziraphale leaned over him, using the same hand to quickly grab his other wrist to pin them both to the carpeting. He straddled Crowley, the overhead lights creating a glow around his hair. Crowley gasped as Aziraphale’s poker tipped his chin up to look the angel in the eye.

“-this,” finished the Principality, his face a well-restrained wild. For a moment, the carpet turned into old soil by a ruined church, his jeans and sweater into a rich tunic and sandals, the warmth of the cottage into a crisp, biting wind. The demon stared up at his angel, wide-eyed.

Crowley’s hips bridged up.

Aziraphale toppled forward from his straight-back straddle to being face-to-face. His burning look turned into a surprised one, before a different kind of burning look came across.

“Is this how you remember our fights?” Aziraphale whispered with a tension. Crowley could tell the angel was Making An Effort and he groaned.

“Mmmm, not exactly,” he replied, shifting around.

Aziraphale cursed before rolling off of him. Crowley began to make an inquisitive sort of sound when the angel pulled him to his feet by the wrist he still held. The pokers had long gone back to their proper place.

“How about we go see how exactly,” Aziraphale panted, “how you remember our fights?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Crowley said breathlessly.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @fan-art-ic on tumblr! (That's where the inspiration art is too)


End file.
